


Fantasy Ride

by dirtbag



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dry Humping, Frottage, Huddling For Warmth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9916310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtbag/pseuds/dirtbag
Summary: “See somethin’ you like?”  Gladio asks.  Above him, Prompto swallows hard.“You know I do, big guy,” he says, the effect of the words kind of ruined by the fact that his voice cracks in two places when he says them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for a kink meme prompt about gladio and prompto fucking for warmth and also written for leah my wife who loves this pairing with all her heart. i have no business being so deep in this fandom when i dont even own a console and have played 3 hrs of this game max but listen. listen to me
> 
> edit: [now with](http://jaciopara.tumblr.com/post/157726058692/for-this-fic-fantasy-ride) [fanart](http://jaciopara.tumblr.com/post/157728497187/another-one-for-this-lmao-fantasy-ride) by jaciopara!!! (nsfw)

Gladio rolls over, grumbling. It’s cold tonight, even with the remains of the campfire casting a faint glow across the walls of their tent, and he can’t seem to get comfortable. 

From this position he can see Prompto, curled up with his back to Gladio a few feet away. It’s hard to tell in this light, but Gladio thinks he might be shivering. 

Gladio thinks about Ignis in the next tent over, probably rolling Noctis into a blanket burrito with fastidious precision at this very moment, and his course of action becomes clear. 

“Prompto,” he says across the scant distance between their sleeping bags. Prompto stirs in response. 

“Huh?” 

“C’mere.”

A few beats of silence later, the back of Prompto’s neck visibly reddens. Gladio stifles a smile. 

“I’m cold,” he continues, figuring it’ll be easier to get Prompto to do this if he doesn’t frame it in a way that suggests he’s concerned. “You gonna come warm me up?”

Prompto’s sleeping bag rustles as he rolls to face Gladio. His face is shadowed, but his narrow shoulders are definitely trembling.

“You’re cold? Really? With all that insulation?”

“Yep.” Gladio keeps his tone amicable. If he refuses to rise to the bait, Prompto has no way to deflect. 

He’s silent for long enough that Gladio thinks he might just refuse outright, but eventually there’s more rustling and the noise of a zipper. Prompto flops out of his sleeping bag a second later and all but rolls across the tent instead of standing up and making the two-step journey like a normal person.

“Guess I’ll help you out then,” he says once he arrives, grinning wide enough for Gladio to count his molars. 

Gladio unzips his own sleeping bag without comment to let Prompto wriggle inside. 

It’s a tight squeeze, even though Gladio’s sleeping bag is much bigger than the other three. Thankfully Prompto makes no attempts at propriety once they’re zipped back up, allowing himself to be sandwiched into the curve of Gladio’s bicep and drawn close without complaint. 

At first, his body doesn’t offer much in the way of heat at all. He’s frigid every place they’re touching, from his bare freckled sternum to the socked feet that he tucks up against Gladio’s shins. Gladio grits his teeth against the chill and hauls him even closer. 

“Uh, that’s,” Prompto starts, but then he pushes his cold nose up against the side of Gladio’s neck and exhales softly, so Gladio figures whatever he was saying can’t be that important. 

Once Prompto’s limbs thaw out, it starts feeling nicer to have him so close. They’d had a motel stay recently, so neither of them even stink, and the tight space keeps Prompto from fidgeting much. 

Gladio’s eyelids get heavy as he relaxes, hold on Prompto slackening until he’s just got a palm resting flat against the small of his back. He’s not sure when he starts rubbing in circles, hand moving slow over the knobs of Prompto’s spine through his too-thin t-shirt, but after a while he becomes aware that Prompto is shivering again. 

“You okay?” Gladio asks. He cups his palm around the back of Prompto’s neck to check for fever or clamminess, but nothing seems weird. Nothing physiological, at least. The muffled squawk that Prompto lets out and the way he shudders against Gladio’s body both seem pretty off.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Prompto says, voice adopting a panicked edge. Gladio doesn’t understand what the hell is up with him until he feels something stiff graze his hip. 

Upon realizing what it is, Gladio tries not to laugh. He’s pretty sure Prompto would die on the spot if he did, which would put all of his lifesaving efforts to waste. He keeps his hand curled around Prompto’s neck, feigning obliviousness as he subtly exerts pressure. 

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Dude,” Prompto says, in tones of anguish. “You gotta stop.” 

“How come?” Gladio rakes his fingers through the downy hair at the base of Prompto’s scalp. Prompto twitches in his arms. 

“ _Because_ ,” he says, breath gusting hard against Gladio’s ear as he attempts to point his boner in a direction that doesn’t put it on a collision course with Gladio’s sweatpants. “I, it’s, y’know— ”

For all the different ways Gladio’s imagined this might happen, this particular scenario has never been high on the list. Or on the list at all. Now that they’re in the middle of it, though, he can’t say he’s opposed. 

He twists his fingers in Prompto’s hair, purposefully gentle, and tugs until Prompto’s head is tipped up to face him. 

“You hard?” 

Prompto lets out a noise of pure misery the likes of which Gladio usually only hears after they’ve been scrambling around in caves for a couple hours. 

“I’ll go back to my side of the tent, okay, just don’t tell anyone, Noct’ll laugh at me forever.”

Gladio snorts. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Shit happens.”

Prompto stammers out a few syllables of nonsense before he appears to pick up what Gladio is putting down, eyes going wide and darting from Gladio’s face to the tent wall to the indistinct shape of their dirty clothes pile. 

“Gladio,” he says at length. “Are you— ”

He breaks off, turning red. By way of response, Gladio strokes his thumb along the back of one of Prompto’s burning ears. He’s really soft there. 

Prompto squirms, clearly trying to be subtle. In a space this small, Gladio thinks he’ll have to try a lot harder than that. 

“You like that?” Gladio keeps his tone conversational, using the same voice he would to ask Prompto out for a morning jog. 

“Shit,” Prompto says, with feeling. He drops his head to rest on Gladio’s collarbone, which serves the dual purpose of hiding his face and leaving the back of his neck vulnerable to Gladio’s machinations. 

“C’mere,” Gladio repeats. He drops his hands down to Prompto’s hips and tugs him close again, pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants in one unceremonious motion. Prompto doesn’t seem to have worn any underwear to bed, which Ignis would hate but Gladio supposes is fine for their purposes. 

He’d sort of expected to have to guide Prompto’s movements a little to get him going, but he shouldn’t have worried. The second they achieve firm dick-to-sweatpant contact, Prompto breathes out reverently and rolls his hips forward like he’s never felt anything better in his life. Maybe he hasn’t. There’s no real way to know what he gets up to when he’s not shooting guns or messing around with Noctis. 

As he skims fingertips up and down the back of Prompto’s neck, Gladio thinks that tonight’s been illuminating in some ways at least. There’s one spot right at the nape that always seems to make him shudder, so Gladio focuses on it, kneading his thumb into the muscle there. 

Prompto curses, shoving his dick up against Gladio’s hip with acute desperation. He’s probably leaving a wet spot, and Gladio isn’t sure when they’ll be able to do laundry next. They’ve warmed up enough now that it should be ok to lose some clothes, anyway.

“Hold on,” he says, and Prompto stops moving long enough for Gladio to ease his own sweatpants down his thighs. For good measure, he yanks his shirt off too, tossing it somewhere to the right of them. 

This time Prompto doesn’t need any coaxing to shuffle in close. He’s got a dazed look in his eye as his focus shifts from Gladio’s chest to his face back down to his chest again. When his dick bumps against Gladio’s bare skin, Prompto’s breath catches. 

Soon he’s given up on looking at Gladio’s face even half the time. His eyes stay fixed on the place where his dick is pushed up against the warm ridged muscle of Gladio’s abs, hips rocking forward in tiny motions that Gladio isn’t even sure he knows he’s making. 

“Okay,” Prompto mutters, “can I just—” 

He cuts himself off to lay both of his hands on Gladio’s pecs, like they’re two holy relics or something. His hands are bony like the rest of him, calloused, raw and pink around the knuckles. He looks deep into Gladio’s eyes once he has them there, something like pleading etched across his flushed face. 

“Knock yourself out,” Gladio says, even though he doesn’t get it. After all, Prompto has muscles of his own. Sure, they’re less impressive, but aren’t everyone’s?

Oblivious to Gladio’s confusion, Prompto takes a deep steadying breath and _squeezes_. 

It’s not like he minds it, but Gladio hadn’t expected to receive this kind of attention over the course of this encounter. He’d thought it would be over by now, that Prompto would just hump his leg and then fall asleep like the shitty teenager Gladio’s never quite stopped thinking of him as. 

Instead, Prompto seems to be ignoring his own dick completely. It’s still leaking a tiny puddle of precum somewhere in the neighborhood of Gladio’s belly button as Prompto leans forward with the curiosity of a scientist and flicks one of Gladio’s nipples. 

Gladio makes a half-surprised noise at the sensation that he immediately wishes he could swallow. Prompto doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s too engrossed in the task at hand, teeth sunk deep into his bottom lip as he alternates between slow rough drags of his palms and gentle circles with his thumbs, pausing every so often to pinch one between his knuckles and tug. 

In an embarrassing amount of time Gladio’s nipples are stiff and sensitive and his dick is straining up against the fabric of his briefs. As if that weren’t enough, Prompto bends his head and licks one, a quick wet flash of sensation that has Gladio’s head thumping backward against the tent floor. 

“How’s that?” Prompto asks, glancing up with a smile that Gladio wants to wipe off his face. He’s never felt like putting someone in a headlock during sex before, but there’s a first time for everything. 

Deciding they’d better get down to it, Gladio grunts and shifts in the sleeping bag so that he’s lying on his back with Prompto on top of him. He spreads his legs for Prompto to get between them and guides their dicks together until he can feel Prompto against him through his briefs, a warm heavy pressure nudging just underneath his cockhead. 

He doesn’t miss the way Prompto looks down at him, turned-on and greedy with an edge of wonderment that’s pretty damn flattering. 

“See somethin’ you like?” Gladio asks. Above him, Prompto swallows hard. 

“You know I do, big guy,” he says, the effect of the words kind of ruined by the fact that his voice cracks in two places when he says them. 

“Yeah,” Gladio agrees, unable to keep a faint note of amusement out of his voice even though he’s feeling a lot more urgent than he would have imagined when this started. “Looks like you’re kinda wet.”

Prompto’s dick jerks between them, forcing out another drop of fluid from the tip. Gladio almost wants to take a picture. 

“That all for me?” 

Prompto mumbles something incomprehensible, shoves his face against Gladio’s neck and breathes there as he clumsily drags his dick up and down the length of Gladio’s. Every upward movement of his body makes the sleeping bag rustle in a highly incriminating manner. 

“You gonna come?” Gladio twines his fingers in Prompto’s hair and tugs his head to the side so he can bite at his neck. Not a smart move considering that the four of them will be up and in each other’s business bright and early tomorrow morning, but he can’t find it in him to care at the moment. 

“Y— fuck, yeah,” Prompto manages. His Adam’s apple jumps as he screws his eyes shut. Gladio keeps his mouth where it is, kissing a line from Prompto’s neck to his shoulder. At first he’d been surprised that Prompto wasn’t louder, but but now that his ears are attuned to it all he can hear are Prompto’s ragged exhales, the moans he lets die in his throat. 

When he comes, Prompto clings so tight to Gladio that he’s sure he’ll have bruises in the morning. He shoots all over the front of Gladio’s briefs, pulse after pulse of it until Gladio can feel the wetness soaking through. So much for not having to do laundry. 

He sighs when he’s finished, draping himself against Gladio and finally losing the tension that’s kept him so wound up all night long. 

“Good,” Gladio tells him, curling fingers into the nape of his neck. He’s not sure why he’s being so nice. 

They lie like that for a few long moments before Prompto gathers himself back up again, fumbling at the waistband of Gladio’s underwear and letting out a breathless laugh when Gladio tries to stop him. 

“You don’t—” Gladio starts, but Prompto waves him off. 

“Trust me,” he says, “this isn’t just for you.” 

Gladio isn’t sure how to argue with that, so instead he just lets Prompto peel down his briefs, spit into his own palm, and wrap it around Gladio’s dick with the air of a seasoned jerkoff professional. 

“Prompto,” Gladio says, for a lack of anything else to say, and Prompto glances up at him with a grin that seems a lot less shit-eating than it had before. 

“Next time I’ll blow you,” he says, eyes fixed on his hand as it works Gladio over. “If I can fit all that in my mouth.” He glances up again, sly this time, and Gladio abruptly revises his previous opinion. 

“Fucker,” he says, dick twitching in Prompto’s hand. 

Prompto takes this as his cue to reshuffle their positions, still pumping Gladio’s dick even as he closes his eyes and tilts his head and aims his open mouth at Gladio’s. 

The kiss is wet, borderline painful, open-mouthed and full of teeth. The second their lips touch Gladio knows he’s about to lose it. He can’t keep his eyes open when he comes, hips bucking up into Prompto’s hand as he groans. 

“Nice one,” Prompto tells him earnestly. Gladio would tell him to shut up, except he gets distracted when Prompto brings his dripping hand up to his mouth and starts sucking the cum off like it’s nothing. 

The sight almost makes Gladio interested in going again, but the fire’s died all the way out by now and they need at least a few hours of sleep if they want to be functional tomorrow. 

By the time the fanfare of getting the briefs off and mopping each other up with Gladio’s abandoned shirt has concluded, the dark outside the tent walls has lightened up considerably. 

Gladio knows on some level that he should send Prompto back to his own sleeping bag, the better to pretend this never happened. Even so, as he wraps his arms around Prompto’s middle and Prompto yawns into his collarbone, the thought doesn’t occur to him.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING, PLEASE TALK TO ME ON [TWITTER](http://twitter.com/spectrologist) AND [TUMBLR](http://prismos.tumblr.com) ABOUT PROMPTO AND GLADIOLUS RUBBING DICKS IN A SLEEPING BAG


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